


Chaleur

by Esteliel



Category: Kushiel's Legacy series
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-11-14
Updated: 2009-11-14
Packaged: 2017-10-02 16:22:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,311
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8325
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Esteliel/pseuds/Esteliel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Decided to kill me after all?" I murmur, but turn around to wrap my arms around him in a sleepy embrace, sharing my body heat with him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Chaleur

I wake sometime during the night. There is the crunching sound of someone walking through snow, and then a brief rush of cold air as he joins me in my wallow, slipping beneath my furs. He shivers, and I shiver as well from the touch of his cold clothes.

“Decided to kill me after all?” I murmur, but turn around to wrap my arms around him in a sleepy embrace, sharing my body heat with him. He makes a sound that shows at once both disgust and amusement, but he burrows against me so sincerely grateful for my warmth that I chuckle and pull him closer before falling asleep again.

In the morning, our bodies have created a little sanctuary of warmth beneath our furs, and I lie unmoving for a while, thinking of nothing, just enjoying the luxury of his heat and companionship. I have been alone for so long, hunting Berlik in the vast wilderness of cold Vralia, that it comes almost as a shock to be reminded of what I had once taken for granted - friendship, conversation, and oh, Blessed Elua, the beauty which is the gift of our D’Angeline blood.

So long have I wandered through frozen Vralia that I have lost count of the days… and in truth, I almost lost myself.

I see Berlik’s face before me once more, the cross on his wall, his neck bent beneath my sword, and I remember Rebbe Avraham’s words.

I do not feel guilt over his death - but there is no satisfaction either. How can there be, when nothing will bring back Dorelei and our unborn child? Maybe this cold country has frozen my heart, yet all I feel now is a deep weariness.  
And yet it could have been no other way. The compassion of Yeshua is not for me - I am a Prince of the Blood, descended from Blessed Elua himself who gave us only one precept, and a scion of Kushiel, the One God’s punisher, who loved his charges too well.

And in the end, even Berlik who had found healing with Yeshua knew that the Yeshuites’ way was not for him. He offered his life as a sacrifice, to clear the Maghuin Dhonn from the taint of his broken oath, and for the first time I truly understood what it meant to be of the blood of mighty Kushiel as I took his life, avenging my wife and child.

And now that Berlik has found Kushiel’s justice, I shall not err from Elua’s path again. _Love as thou wilt_, he bade us, and never again shall I refuse Elua’s greatest gift.

I think of Sidonie, shining like the sun on the Longest Night, and some of the ice around my heart begins to melt. Maslin moves a little in my arms and I smile, thinking of them together. I do not begrudge her the comfort she found in him, not now, not here, when he is warm in my arms, beautiful as only one with the blood of angels in his veins can be. He is a solace in this cold, lonely country where even compassionate Yeshua has brought forward a fierce, new faith, a people who wear a cross instead of the _khai_ and seek to spread their faith by the sword.

I shiver, thinking how quickly this country has grown, how quickly their faith is changing. Vralia – does our Queen even know its name? And yet how much can change in the time of one generation?

Maslin lifts his head a little and gives me a wry look, but does not censure me for my brooding which I know must be apparent on my face. It is warm beneath our furs and we are both still languid with sleep, and when he moves to kiss me, it seems perfectly natural. It is not unlike kissing Lucius, and yet so different – his lips are chafed and dry from the cold, yet warm, and his tongue is insistent, challenging, fighting me for dominance.

When he finally draws back I laugh, flushed and happy, for I know that after all that I have lived through these last two years, Daršanga has lost its hold over me. I am a frightened child no longer – I am a man, Imriel nó Montrève de la Courcel, Prince of the Blood, son of traitors and foster-son of heroes, and lover of Dauphine Sidonie de la Courcel, heir to the throne.

“If you think that I will play Valerian to your Mandrake, you are mistaken, Prince,” Maslin whispers hoarsely, his eyes challenging me so that I smile, remembering my cousin Mavros who has offered me just that.

“What makes you think I desire that, Maslin?” I murmur, running a hand through his fair hair. “Son of Camael, I know who you are. Do you think you would fight me for the privilege, one day?”

“One day?” Maslin echoes, then grins at me. “And do you not think Sidonie might object?”

I shake my head. “She would want me healed,” I say simply, and he falls silent, understanding.

“Then let me warm you in my warrior ways,” he says finally, leaning over me to kiss me again, and I groan against his lips when I see that there is no reluctance in him despite my confession. Our tongues fight for dominance, and I want to moan at the familiar taste.

D’Angeline.

Home.

Our hands fumble with our clothing, and I pull back from his mouth to groan when I feel the heat of his swollen phallus against my thigh.

“Oh, Elua,” I moan, kissing him again, greedily taking his mouth, and instead of being frightening, his strength, his will to fight me is strangely reassuring.

We slide against each other and I cry out once more when he wraps his hands around us. “Will you fight me for it?” he pants, as lost as I am. “One day… We’ll fight with swords. If I win, you’ll kneel and perform the _languisement_ for me.”

The thought makes me groan, and I remember the boy, the adept of Valerian House, who served me so when Mavros took me to see the showing he had arranged.

“And if I win,” I whisper back, “I’ll have you in a bed. I’ll tie you up and do wonderful, horrible things to you – and when you find your pleasure, you’ll feel me inside you.”

He cries out then, a garbled sound of pleasure and desire. Heat spreads between us as I follow him, and for a long while, we rest against each other, the sound of our panting loud in our fur-covered little wallow. Where our skin touches I feel his heat, sweat slowly drying, the air musky with the scent of our pleasure, and I smile against his shoulder because I know I will have this again.

Maslin turns his head to face me, brushing his lips against mine with a satisfied sound.

“Well, it seems that in the end, I got what I wanted after all,” he says and gives me a teasing grin. “You might not owe me your life, but you know that I’ll never let you forget how you cried out in my arms.”

I chuckle. “And did you not cry out as well, Maslin?” We move closer together, fleeing the cold that our movement let in.

“And now that you have what you wanted… do you find that it has become smaller?” I ask soberly.

He looks at me, and then he gives me such a smile that all of a sudden I know what Sidonie has seen in him all that time. “This time it has grown,” he says softly, and then we are silent, resting in our little wallow beneath the furs, warmed by our passion and Elua’s blessing while all around us the snow continues to fall.


End file.
